Blood Ties Read Online Free PDF

the once, doesn’t it?’
    ‘It is born, lives brightly for an instant, then dies? The best kind of beauty, to my mind.’ Haakon squinted down the rough barrel, wondering if he could cram in any more loose metal. Then he thought about the effect of his words. ‘But you are not a gun, boy. Remember to take no chances down there.’
    The reply was all innocence. ‘But, of course not, Father. I will cower with you in the rear, as always.’
    Cuffing his son across the head to hide his smile, Haakon pushed him down the stair. Before he followed, he glanced up, through the open back of the upper casemate. Beck was on one side of the emplacement, Jean on the other, both turned away.
    ‘Ah, Rombaud.’ There was something between them, something wrong with his friends, some hurt Jean could never discuss and Haakon could never ask about. He’d tried, and it was like a gaol door slammed shut behind the Frenchman’s eyes. The door had been in place for a while now, from before the siege. At first Haakon thought it dated from when the Florentines had come, the destruction of their homes. Later, he realized he could barely remember a time when the hurt was not there. Certainly not since Gianni, their son, had disappeared.
    ‘Rombaud.’ Shaking his head, Haakon started down the stairs. He missed having his comrade by his side, missed seeing the Frenchman’s square-headed executioner’s sword swinging death to their enemies. Even if Jean was a general now, Haakon would have given anything to see that blade descend once again.
    His men waited for him in the narrow chamber by the well shaft. They were the usual mix, half of them Sienese patriots, half mercenaries. The latter were mainly French, for France, as always, sided with those who fought the Emperor. The rest were Scots. The patriots had the spirit, the trained warriors the skill. It was a good balance on the whole.
    With Erik a shadow on his shoulder, he descended into the pit, feeling the familiar surge of battle joy. Too much of this siege had been spent watching from walls, dodging snipers’ bullets, building and reinforcing walls dented by cannon. Not enough sorties, too much idle time thinking about empty stomachs. Happy now, Haakon made the sign of Thor’s hammer and led his troop down into the darkness.
    Haakon smelt the Fugger before he touched him, the German’s life underground, digging, listening for the enemy’s stealthy approach, giving him the distinctive tang of some earth-burrowing creature. The gated lantern’s fragile light revealed more of the mole, a dirt-encrusted face, a shaved head plastered with mud, cobweb and timber dust.
    The light passed over the drum, the pebbles on its surface bouncing hard. The Fugger whispered, ‘Five, at the most!’ Haakon nodded, then moved three paces back. Squatting, he placed a forked stick into the ground before him and rested the open end of the tromba onto it, embedding the other end in a rapidly scraped-up pile of earth. Blowing on the cord that hung from his belt produced the desired glow. With a sigh, he lowered himself onto the ground to wait.
    The Fugger stopped by Erik, squeezing him on the arm. ‘And how fares my daughter?’
    He sensed, rather than saw, the young man’s blush, smiled that this fiercest of warriors could so easily be embarrassed with thoughts of love. The Fugger was happy, for Erik was a good boy, if wild, and his love was clear and true. Spending his life as he did in these dark places, it was a comfort to know that his jewel, his Maria, the last light in his life, was so loved and looked after.
    ‘She is well. She hopes to see you soon and safe.’
    ‘After this night’s work, I think.’ Moving past, seeking the gunpowder, he whispered back, ‘She hopes to see you safe all the more, young man. Remember that.’
    Quiet came again, along with the impenetrable dark. Breathing was shallow, the air close, and if a man had to move, to unstiffen a joint or limb, he did so carefully,